Sherlock in the Office
by wellhoneydont
Summary: Sherlock is bored, and Mrs. Hudson has had enough of it. She sends him off to get a job in the office to keep him busy and he's not at all happy about it. Contains slash.
1. Mrs Hudson Puts her Foot Down

"For heaven's sake, Sherlock! Leave my bloody wall alone!" Mrs. Hudson hit the man on the arm, but he seemed to not really feel it. Instead, he fingered the gun in his hands and continued to stare into space, his eyebrows all the way up.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, leave it alone. John will fix it up, no worries." he mumbled as he absentmindedly added another bullet hole to the wall that still wore the smiley face wound from his last meeting with boredom.

Mrs. Hudson wrestled the British Army Browning L9A1 from his hand; he gave surprisingly little resistance. "No, Sherlock, I simply won't have it! It's been months since your last case and my apartment is taking a beating for it. You need a real job. I want you to apply for a paying job and be working within a month, you understand? I won't have you vandalizing this place another day."

Sherlock curled up in his chair, pulling his sleeve up to slap his nicotine patch into working order. He looked into the eyes of the elderly woman staring over him and said, "You and I both know I would never survive in an office; I'd rather be stuck here redecorating. Besides, who would ever hire me?"

"I don't know, but you'd better find someone or I'm kicking you out." And with that, she turned to leave, Sherlock's gun still in her hand.

At the door she was met by the figure of a small man carrying a carton of milk. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson," John Watson said with a smile. She didn't return it; instead, she shoved the gun into his free hand. "Keep an eye on him," she said, nodding towards the tall man curled up and looking insufferably miserable in the armchair. "Make sure he behaves, and he'd better do what I said."

"I'm sorry, and what was that?" John asked, his brow creased.

"I've told Sherlock he's got a month to find a real paying job or he's out of this flat. I'm not going to keep hiring men to fix the holes in the wall every time he gets bored."

John's eyebrows shot up in amusement. "Oh, really?" He asked, making his way over to Sherlock. "Where're you planning on getting a job, then?"

Sherlock gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Just make sure he finds one within the month, John, dear."

"I'd be glad to." He grinned mischievously. "Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Goodbye, John. Goodbye, Sherlock." and she turned her back on them descended the stairs.

John put the milk in the fridge and placed the gun on the counter, and as soon as Mrs. Hudson was out of earshot flopped into the chair opposite Sherlock's and laughed.

"So; a job, eh? Oh, you can't be happy about this." He stared at his friend, grinning, as Sherlock sat upright and ruffled his hair in frustration.

"There's a reason I've never worked in an office, John. You're cooped up eight hours a day, five days a week, surrounded by the finest brand of idiots found anywhere in the world. If Mrs. Hudson thinks it's at all a good idea to put me into that situation she has another thing coming. I'll have pulled all my hair out by the end of the first day; either that, or strangled the lot of them."

"Oh, stop grumbling," John said. "It'll be good for you. Maybe you'll even learn a thing or two."

Sherlock stared at John, who rolled his eyes. "Okay, we both know you won't learn anything. But if you want to continue living here with me, which I hope you do, you're going to have to get a job, like it or not."

Sherlock slapped his nicotine patch again, trying to beat all the juice out of it at once.

"Well, John, since you're the expert on this kind of thing, where do you suggest I start?"

John ignored the sarcasm and stood up to retrieve the newspaper from the counter. He dropped it on the coffee table in front of Sherlock.

"Well, normal people usually start there."

Sherlock regarded the paper before him as some disgusting disease, holding it almost at arm's length as he looked through it. John shook his head, again smiling, as he sat back down and watched Sherlock grow more and more frustrated with every page he turned.

"You could apply at New Scotland Yard," John offered after a while. "That wouldn't be too hard on you, and at least you wouldn't be working in an office."

Sherlock didn't even look up from the paper. "They'd never take me in. With the exception of Lestrade, they all want my heart on a platter."

Any other person would've been taken aback by Sherlock's dramatic (if mostly true) statement, but John was accustomed to these kinds of things. He puckered his lips in discontent and said nothing else on the subject.

"Well... Dinner, then?" John was starving and figured his partner could use a distraction.

"Sounds marvelous."

Sherlock hopped up and grabbed his coat from John. He reached for his scarf as well, but John had beat him to it. He wrapped the blue fabric around Sherlock's neck and used it as leverage to pull Sherlock down to his level, kissing him on the mouth. John broke away but didn't release his hold on Sherlock's scarf, keeping their faces close. "Don't worry about this whole job thing, okay? It's only temporary. We'll be back to risking our lives for the sake of justice in no time." Sherlock pecked John on the mouth again before leading the way downstairs and hailing a taxi.

xXx

Angelo was persistent. Ever since their first visit to his restaurant, he had kept on trying to get Sherlock and John to confess their love of each other; he knew they were hiding something, he just _knew_ it. As of late, as he had been proven correct, the two men had simply tried to hide their smiles as he offered them the romance of candlelight.

Tonight was no different.

"Ooh, we're having us a little date night, is we?" Angelo wondered aloud with an intruding smile on his face. Sherlock and John busied themselves with their menus, pretending not to have heard him.

Angelo came back a few minutes later to take their orders; he was accompanied by the ever-present candle, which he placed between the two men. "We make sexy time, oh yes," he said. John burst out laughing and Sherlock smirked, an amused glint in his eye. Angelo smiled at them once more before leaving them to themselves.

"He's not going to stop, is he?" John asked as he continued to read his menu.

"He's definitely very stubborn," Sherlock said. "As much as I like the man, he needs to stay out of his customers' business."

"It doesn't mean he's wrong, though."

Sherlock bit his lip. He glanced up at John, and looked hurriedly away when he met his eyes.

The two men ordered and ate their dinner in relative peace; Angelo simply would not give up. He knew something was up and was determined to prove it to the world. Finally, they got away; they walked down the street a little closer than usual.

Right outside Angelo's restaurant was a small side alley, and before John knew what was happening Sherlock had pushed him into it and up against the wall. John stared, eyebrows up, into the other man's face; Sherlock was simply staring at him.

"Um, what're you -"

"Shh. I'm thinking." Sherlock continued to stare intently at John, and as much as John loved the man, it was starting to get just a little bit weird.

"Thinking about what, exactly?" John asked slowly and carefully.

Sherlock seemed almost annoyed at the interruption. "Once I get this bloody job, I'll be gone for a while, right? Eight hours a day, at least. We can't have lunch together every day anymore. We won't be working together any more. Sometimes you work late. You won't stay at work late just to be with Sarah, will you? Because I've seen the way she looks at you and I don't like it at all."

It was John's turn to stare. "Is that what you're worried about? Losing me? You won't, Sherlock, I thought you knew that by now. And in case you've forgotten, we share a flat. Sarah and I are just friends; I've told her that. If she still wants to be more than that then that's for her to deal with on her own. And also, in case you've forgotten, we share a bed."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "You're right." he said dejectedly. "Don't... don't know what got into me." He looked into John's face for one moment more and then went at him, gluing his lips to his flatmate's. John grunted, which only encouraged Sherlock; he pushed him up against the wall, putting his palms there, also, to the side of John's shoulders, caging him in, forbidding him to escape. John pushed harder into Sherlock, trying almost to melt into him. He ran his tongue along Sherlock's lips, outlining them and memorizing the taste. His fingers meandered across the taller man's torso, traveling downward before looping themselves in his belt loops and tugging.

Something wrenched behind Sherlock's groin. He forced himself to unglue his body from John's, pushing off the wall and closing his eyes, taking in a deep sigh. John mirrored him, blinking his eyes quickly, as if to blink away the sensation.

Sherlock stayed still and took in deep breaths, trying to will away what he knew was a bulge in his trousers. "God, John," Sherlock whispered.

John started, suddenly alert; what, was Sherlock blaming him? For what? He was about to respond but Sherlock beat him to it.

"I really hope Angelo didn't see that."

John snorted. "Oh, he would've loved that, wouldn't he? Lord, we'd never hear the end of it."

Sherlock smirked. The ache in his groin was mostly gone now, if only because he was pointedly thinking of things other than the man beside him.

"Come on, we should probably get back," John said. "You've got a job to look for."

Sherlock turned and glared; John grinned in good humor and laced his fingers in Sherlock's as they headed off in return to Baker Street.


	2. The Paper Company

John jerked awake. There was a hideous sound coming from the room next door; a screeching that was not unlike some poor dying animal. It was already starting to give him a headache. He pulled on some sweatpants and made his way groggily to the source of the racket.

Walking into the living room he stopped, suddenly thoroughly annoyed; the noise was coming from Sherlock, who was playing his violin passionately. Well, not as much playing it, really, as seeing which notes would squeak the most.

"Sherlock." John said after a moment. Sherlock knew he was there, of course. He was just pretending not to have noticed him.

"Sherlock!" John said, louder. The guilty man had the gall to look surprised at John's appearance.

"What are you doing up?" Sherlock asked innocently. "You don't need to leave for quite some time."

"You know perfectly well why I'm up so early. Now stop being sour about your interview today and let me get some sleep."

Sherlock stood silent for a moment before narrowing his eyes in disgust and unwillingly setting his violin down. John may not be the brightest person he'd ever met, but not everything was lost on him.

"Get some food in you," John said. "Your interview is in an hour and you need to leave soon. I hope you got some sleep last night." Geez. Sure, he loved Sherlock and he was definitely never bored, but did he always have to play his mother?

"What are you, my mummy?"

John ignored him and returned to his room, thinking he could get about a half an hour's more sleep in.

Sherlock made himself a cup of tea and sat down at the table, thinking about the few cases he'd solved with John. Well, John had only helped so much – mostly he was just there for moral support and because Sherlock couldn't exactly see himself without this short man by his side. Yes, he had only known John for a few months, and yes, he was Sherlock Holmes, for crying out loud, but John was different. He might not have been quite as brilliant as Sherlock, but he could surprise Sherlock at any given time with a thought that hadn't even occurred in his clever mind.

And apart from that, there was something about John that Sherlock just couldn't figure out (and oh yes, he had analyzed it a great many times). From the moment Sherlock had laid eyes on him, John had caught his attention and made him double-think the way he did everything. He found himself embarrassed about the mess he'd made when John came to see the flat for the first time. When John had asked him if he had a boyfriend or a girlfriend and Sherlock had turned him down, saying he considered himself married to his work, he had beat himself up for it afterwards.

Not that it mattered now, of course. They were very much together. But still. He had beat himself upside the head for saying that for weeks.

An alarm went off, scaring Sherlock so that he almost spilled his tea.

It was time for his interview. Awesome.

He put his coat on over his purple silk shirt and tied his scarf around his neck as he bounded down the stairs. He hailed a cab and on the way to the Paper Company, the paper merchant company where John had so kindly turned in his resume, he thought about how much he didn't want to work in an office and how Mrs. Hudson's wall was definitely going to suffer for this.

And who called a company that makes paper "The Paper Company," anyway? Sherlock figured he could've thought up a better name when he was five years old.

Finally they arrived; Sherlock mumbled his thanks to the cabbie and stepped slowly up the stairs and into the main reception office of the building.

"Sherlock Holmes, I have an appointment for 8:30," he told the receptionist.

She smiled at him and motioned for him to sit down for a moment as she finished her phone call.

The office was nice and quiet. There were numerous chairs situated around a small coffee table. There was a magazine holder to the side of it, keeping all the entertainment neatly packaged and out of the way. There was also a fish tank on a shelf behind Sherlock's seat; it contained exactly three fish, one of which was floating on its back and definitely not looking very well.

"Mr. Holmes, Reid will see you now," the receptionist said in a perky voice.

Her high-pitched voice, her Barbie doll smile, and her perfectly curled hair were all sickening. Such a boring breed of woman, Sherlock thought.

He was ushered through a hallway lined with cubicles. He finally reached Reid's office, which was very spacious and had two computers on the desk. Sherlock knew he could use two computers at a time and make very good use out of it, but he wondered what a man in an office building needed with more than one. Come to think of it, he could do better work than Reid with a pen and paper.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. Herald Reid, nice to meet you," the man said, standing up and walking around his desk to shake Sherlock's hand. Sherlock shook back and gave a polite smile. Both men took their seats on either side of the desk.

"So tell me, Holmes, what are you hoping to get out of this job?" Reid sat back and made himself comfortable in his chair, folding his hands across his abdomen.

"Well, I'm hoping for some money," Sherlock said bluntly. Thinking that he probably should at least try for this job so Mrs. Hudson and John didn't both kill him, he corrected himself. "Of – of course. I also need to get out of the house. Bored, you know. It's not good for me."

Reid nodded and smiled in understanding, although Sherlock figured he didn't understand just how bad boredom was in his case.

"And how did you hear about us?"

"Paper," Sherlock said. He left out the part about his flatmate finding it for him.

Reid nodded. He continued to smile, and it made Sherlock feel somewhat uncomfortable.

"Now, really, Sherlock. What would you say is the most important part of a company?"

Sherlock had no idea what to say. Was this a typical question asked at a job interview? "Um... the customers?"

"While they are important," Reid said pompously, "the most important part of the company is the _staff._ The staff are the ones who run the place, the staff are the ones who do all the work, and the staff are the ones that deserve to be thanked. So, from me to you I say, _thank you."_

Sherlock sat staring. The man was nice and all, but he apparently was somewhat loopy. Sherlock was only just now having his interview; he wasn't staff yet at all.

Reid stood up and walked around the desk once more, reaching his hand out to shake Sherlock's. "Thank you very much, indeed, Mr. Holmes. We couldn't do this without you."

Sherlock slowly reached his hand out and shook Reid's massive one. He was still very much confused.

Reid burst out laughing, making Sherlock jump. "Oh, don't look like that! Of course you have the job already! I can just tell, I _simply know,_ that you're going to be perfect for the part. Be here tomorrow at 9 AM and we'll get you started!"

Sherlock left the building and stood on the sidewalk, waiting for a cab. That man was certainly interesting. Was there something wrong with him? Sherlock hadn't ever applied for a job in an office before, but he had heard people talk about interviews and he knew they were nothing like what had just happened to him. The man in charge was obviously not all quite right in the head, and Sherlock was going to have the pleasure of working for him until another case showed up.

When Sherlock at last managed to get a cab and instructed the driver "To 221B Baker Street, please," he spent the entire drive to the flat wishing as hard as he could that a case would show up very, very soon.


	3. Celia and John

**A/N: Sorry if this chapter doesn't live up to expectations, guys. It's presenting a lot of challenges for me for some reason. I plan to write maybe one more chapter after this one, so I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading. :)**

Here it goes, thought Sherlock. Your first day at work.

He had started the day off with about three cups of tea, and hidden by his shirt sleeve were four nicotine patches ready to begin their work.

He met the receptionist at her desk. "Hello, Laura. Just checking in." He wasn't rude, but he wasn't especially friendly, either.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes! Good to see you! Your office is right over there," She pointed down the hallway he had been down to get to Reid's office the day of his interview. "I'll just put it in the records that you're here today. Have an awesome day."

He nodded at her with an awkward smile and headed toward his office. As he emerged into the large central office area, he noticed that nobody was really doing any work; a group of people were gathered around someone with a magazine and they were all giggling incessantly. Another woman in the corner was absolutely cemented by the lips to a man who looked to be at least fifteen years older than her.

Sherlock tried to disregard all of this as he found his cubicle and sat down. He took inventory of his desktop; a fairly nice computer (although his was better), a bulletin board that looked like it may have served one or two people previously, and the regular office supplies – a stapler, a cup of pens and pencils, post-it notes. He also noticed the man at the desk across from him. He had dark grey circles under his eyes and ridiculous hair cut. He was staring at his computer screen intently with his eyes wide open, his nose mere centimeters from the screen. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to the paperwork before him; Laura had taught him what he'd be doing after his interview.

He'd been working for just a moment when a woman with perfectly curled brunette hair sat down on the corner of his desk. Sherlock recognized her as one that had been huddled giggling around the magazine.

Sherlock stared at her, hoping she'd get the hint that he didn't want to talk to her; she didn't.

"Hey. I'm Celia. What's your name?"

Sherlock's blank expression didn't change. "I'm Sherlock."

"Oh, hi!" Celia replied. Her face lit up as she spoke to him, although Sherlock was sure nothing he said would ever be that genuinely interesting to her.

"So you've met Reid, yeah?"

"Of course I've met Reid. He'd my boss."

"Oh duh. Silly me!"

An awkward silence fell, and Sherlock wished as hard as he could that she would vanish.

"Well, I'll let you get your work done, Lock. I know you're so busy." She put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze as she left.

...Lock? She dared to give him a nickname? Lord. This was just the brand of freak Sherlock had dreaded working with.

Whatever. She was gone now and he was going to get as much work done now as he could so he could go home.

He got a record amount of work done within the next half hour. He made phone calls, received and filed faxes, and fed information into the computer as fast as it could take it in. It wasn't hard work and it left his mind free to roam; he was starting to think it might even not be that bad here after all when Reid descended upon him.

"Just working, I see!" he hollered in Sherlock's ear. "Bein' a good little boy!" he looked proud of himself and laughed obnoxiously at his own joke. Sherlock didn't share his amusement.

"Oh, well," Reid said, recovering. "Let's see just how much work you've been getting done here." He picked up the faxes in both Sherlock's in and out boxes, mixing them up so it would take him at least ten minutes to sort them back again.

"Whoa!" Reid's eyes bulged and he looked so taken aback that it would have been comical had it not been so annoying.

"This is fantastic, look at this! You may just be our new employee of the month and you ain't been here for two hours!" Reid stood Sherlock up and addressed the entire office.

"People, pay attention. We have ourselves a model citizen right here!" He slapped Sherlock on the back with a friendly smile; Sherlock didn't return it. Everyone was clapping for him and he heard Celia announce, "That's Lock, I'm his best friend. What can I say? He loves me." Sherlock gritted his teeth.

After what was definitely too much commotion, Sherlock was allowed to sit down and resume his work.

Four o'clock couldn't have come sooner. As he sat in the cab back to Baker Street, he reflected on Celia. She'd approached him two more times that day, trying to draw closer to him with every visit. At one point Sherlock had scooted further away in his chair as she scooted closer, but still, she hadn't noticed. John would not be happy to hear about her. John was definitely scheduled to listen to Sherlock's rant when he got home; not just about Celia, but about Reid, too, and the weird guy in the desk next to him named George who had talked on the phone (speaker phone, on top of that) all day.

Sherlock walked into the flat not expecting John for a few more hours, but he was greeted by a quick kiss on the lips and a bright smile; the first one he was actually glad to see all day.

"How was your day?" John asked, taking Sherlock's coat off him and hanging it up.

"Where's my cocaine?" Sherlock asked. He had been joking, but John hadn't realized; his eyes widened in disbelief. "Kidding, kidding!" Sherlock hurriedly assured his partner. "It was shit, basically."

"I'm sorry." John sounded genuine. "Tea?"

"Please." Sherlock sat in front of the couch with his head between his knees. A few moments later John placed his mug on the coffee table in front of him. He sat on the couch behind Sherlock and began massaging his shoulders. It felt marvelous. Sherlock moaned slightly as he felt his muscles relax.

When he was done, John leaned forward to kiss Sherlock again. It lasted a long moment and was very welcome. When Sherlock broke away he kept his face mere inches from John's.

"There was a girl at work today named Celia. She called me Lock and was telling everyone we were best friends. She seriously encroached on my space and stubbornly would _not _go away."

"What did she look like?"

Sherlock didn't see how this mattered but answered anyway. "A prostitute."

John's eyes narrowed. "She'd better leave you alone. I know how to get people to do what I want."

Sherlock chuckled. "Don't worry about it, John. You're not facing any competition. Although, it would serve her well to find out I have a boyfriend the hard way. What do you say to coming with me to work, just for a little while? I wouldn't even have to call her over to introduce you two, she'd approach us all on her own."

John rolled his eyes, but he was laughing. "I don't know, Sherlock. I'd love to, but I have to be at work."

"Correction: you have to be at work forty-five minutes later than I do. You're only needed for a few minutes." Sherlock attempted puppy-dog eyes, but they failed miserably. John snorted.

"Fine. But if you start getting guys stalking you after this, it's not my fault."

"Deal." Sherlock took both John's cheeks in his hands and gave him a great kiss of thanks and stood to change into more comfortable clothes.

xXx

The next morning when Sherlock checked in to work, it was with John at his side. He walked slowly into the main office, almost bursting with excitement. Oh, he couldn't wait to see the look on Celia's face when he took John's face in his hands and gave him a passionate kiss.

The two men stood talking by Sherlock's desk, biding their time until Celia noticed their presence. It didn't take long.

"Hey, Lock! Who's this?" she asked, flipping her hair promiscuously.

"Hello, Celia. This is John."

John shook Celia's hand and smiled at her. It was somewhat brave, really, because Sherlock could tell John was itching to get this over with and get Sherlock out of her sight.

"It's _great_ to meet you, John. Although, Sherlock's never told me anything about you. How do you know each other?"

Sherlock didn't mention how he hadn't said more than three words to her and certainly hadn't mentioned any friends or acquaintances. "Oh, are you sure? Anyway, John's my boyfriend." He did just as planned and took John's face in his hands and kissed him right in front of the entire office. He closed his eyes; he'd see Celia's reaction in a moment. She was probably just standing there with a stupid look on her face, anyway.

John broke away first, taking both of Sherlock's hands in his own and removing them from his face. He let one go and laced his fingers through the others.

"It was great meeting you, Celia," John said with a grin. "I hope to see you again real soon."

Celia's eyes were huge and she stood paralyzed for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Nice... to meet you too."

John squeezed Sherlock's hand and pecked him on the cheek before leaving, the smile still on his face.


End file.
